Dynamo
by germanbrothers
Summary: Ludwig is the Captain of the Berlin Badgers, a professional Quidditch team. And as such, he does not have time to coach random strangers who approach him in bars. Unless, of course, those strangers happen to have an extraordinary amount of talent. /Eventual Germancest
1. Chapter 1

So this came about with a drabble request. Anon wanted an adult-Ludwig and teen-Gilbert AU where they aren't brothers, and I added the crossover aspect just for fun. There will be eventual Germancest, because that's my OTP. That is, if Ludwig doesn't throttle Gilbert first. Enjoy!

* * *

Ludwig had just finished an 8-hour practice session, and now he was relaxing in a pub, enjoying time with his team and, for once in a while, not having to think about Quidditch.

That was until someone came up to him. And spoke.

Usually when people saw him and his team together they didn't say much unless they were in Quidditch robes and obviously accepting the attention of adoring fans. And usually when that happened, they didn't go after the Beater.

Except when that Beater was also the team Captain.

Ludwig didn't mind discussing strategy and logistics with those who had a certain level of intelligence, but when it came to the screaming fans and autograph-seekers he was usually in the back, relishing in his relative obscurity compared to the rest of his teammates. He wasn't very charismatic, didn't really have any answers to interview questions beyond his plans for his team, and didn't do well in front of a camera. Despite this (or perhaps because of it), he had boosted his team, the Berlin Badgers, to unprecedented levels of success. In no time, it was speculated, they would make it to the World Cup for the first time.

That's why what people thought about him or his team wasn't even a shadow of thought in his mind, until someone spoke to him.

"I want you to teach me to play Quidditch."

He put his beer down, slowly, and he turned to look at the figure standing next to him.

Some kind of kid, with white hair and red eyes and what looked like hand-me-down clothing. The kid wasn't even wearing robes - but yet, it was the summertime.

"Excuse me?" Ludwig said.

"I want you to teach me to play Quidditch." he repeated. His eyes were bright and determined and he stood stock-straight and unwavering.

Ludwig looked for a loss at a moment, but one his teammates fortunately came to his rescue. "Look, kid, I don't think-"

"I wasn't talking to you," the kid said sharply, with nothing but a passive glance at who had spoken. His gaze returned to Ludwig.

Ludwig sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't need this. "I'm preparing my team for the European Championship. I don't have time for you," he said simply.

"That's alright," the boy said, "I will make time for you."

The rest of the team snickered, and a sharp look from Ludwig shut them up. He then looked back to the kid. "What's your name?"

"Gilbert."

"Do you even have a broom, Gilbert?"

"Yes. I have a Dynamo."

His Seeker scoffed from the far end of the table. "A Dynamo? That's an East German model. They stopped making those in 1985…they would stop working in the middle of a game and just drop. A Dynamo is hardly even worth sweeping with-"

"Mine works fine!" Gilbert snapped, giving him a fierce glare before he looked back at Ludwig. "I know your training grounds. I will be there tomorrow at 6 o'clock in the morning. I want to learn." With that, he turned and left the pub.

Ludwig stared off at him for a moment then turned back to his team with a lost look. His fellow Beater, seated next to him, patted him on the shoulder. "You don't have to do it. Practice starts at 8 tomorrow. If he's still around, we'll just chase him off."

Ludwig nodded, and the night continued. Despite his teammates laughter and (eventual) drunken shenanigans in the pub, Ludwig restrained himself. He could not stop thinking about that boy, with the dirty clothes and the Dynamo broom and those fierce, determined eyes. He had never seen eyes like that. How interesting.

* * *

It seemed strange that Ludwig would be awake at five thirty the next morning. He had slept fine, but had awoken and been unable to go back to sleep. He could always continue to try to sleep, of course, but…

Gilbert in the training field. Alone. It was a crisp, dewey morning with a hint of chill - a good day for practice.

And for lonely boys to loiter where they shouldn't.

With a groan, Ludwig cursed how nice he was. He would feel terrible about letting some stranger wait for hours just to see him.

Strangers shouldn't have such control over you, he told himself as he pulled his practice robes on. He's just a boy and he's stupid and naive, he told himself as he pulled his gloves on and headed to the door. He doesn't even know how to play and he's wasting your time, he told himself as he made sure his door was locked for the third time and headed out to the practice field.

Sure enough, as Ludwig arrived at 5:55am, dragging behind him the chest of Quidditch balls, he saw Gilbert there, dressed in large, dingy robes and his trusty Dynamo broomstick. It was in sad shape - the fibers were broken or bent, and he could see several cracks in the handle. The screws were rusty and the metal was bent in some places and had lost all color.

Ludwig winced at the sight. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Captain!" Gilbert said enthusiastically. He was about to say something else, but Ludwig cut him off.

"I'm not your Captain. Now, net's get started. Do you know the basics?"

"Yes."

"Do you learn quickly?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm going to teach you two years of Quidditch in two hours. Have you ever been on a broom in the air?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"A year ago, sir. I hit a tree after being airborne for about ten minutes."

Ludwig sighed. It would be a long morning.

* * *

Two hours later, Ludwig sat in the locker room whilst his team around him prepared for daily practice. He was bent forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together and his chin resting upon them.

"Well good morning," His Seeker came up next to him and sat to lace up his boots. "You retired early last night. The groundskeeper said that he saw you here before anyone else."

"I was training Gilbert," Ludwig said without moving his eyes from the far wall.

His Seeker gasped and grinned, slowly crossing his shoulders. "Did you now? And how did that turn out? Did you have to mop up his remains off the lawn?"

Ludwig shrugged. "He fell off in the first five minutes and again halfway through the morning. His eyesight is terrible - he couldn't see the Snitch unless it was five yards in front of him. His upper arm strength is dubious at best - I've seen an angry toddler hit a Bludger harder than he could. His broom is slow and wonky and constantly flies slightly to the left - a hungry sparrow could grab a Quaffle from him." He sighed.

The Seeker laughed. "As I thought. Anyone like that-"

"…But…" Ludwig took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. "I fired over thirty shots with him at the goal post." He slowly looked at the man next to him. "He blocked every single one of them."

The Seeker's brow raised. "Really now?"

"Every single one. I used every angle, every position, every technique I knew, and not a single one went through. He knows how to use that broom in a small space and his reflexes are extraordinary."

"You think he could be a good Keeper?"

"No," Ludwig said. "I think he could be an amazing Keeper."

Silence between the two. Finally, Ludwig spoke again. "I don't know anything about him. I don't know where he lives or where he came from or how he knows about us. But he likes Quidditch, and he has some old broomstick that doesn't work. I don't even know if he goes to school. But I do know that he has an extraordinary amount of potential." He stood up then and grabbed his broomstick, looking back at him and motioning for his team to leave to the field.

"What did you say to him?" the Seeker asked as they walked out together.

"I told him to go home," Ludwig said. "I told him I didn't have time to play coach to anyone but my own team. So I told him to go home and I left." Already he could feel that twang of guilt creeping in on him. Letting a kid like that go…no, letting potential like that go. That's all it was. His raw talent.

"Well good. We don't need distractions. We're so close to the finals, after all."

"Well…" Ludwig looked across the field and he could have sworn he saw a white head duck behind the opposite hall to the second locker room. "I have a feeling I haven't seen the last of him."


	2. Chapter 2

A week passed, and the memory of the pale haired kid faded from Ludwig's mind. He already had enough to deal with - practice, the finals very shortly, an upcoming match against Munich, interviews, keeping his house clean and free from dust bunnies (an ongoing war - Ludwig's magic was strong, but theirs was stronger), and whatever else their manager decided to throw their way.

Early one fine, Wednesday morning, Ludwig arrived on the training field to practice by himself for at least a few hours before the team. It helped clear his head and get him in top shape before practice. In tow was the chest of Quidditch balls and his regulation broomstick, given to everyone on his team as part of some promotion for some broom maker whom Ludwig had never cared about.

However, someone else was already occupying the space. It was that kid. Gilbert. Sitting against the goal post, with his stupid Dynamo broomstick clutched tightly in his hand.

Ludwig sighed and folded his arms across his chest when he saw Gilbert. "You should not be here," he chided. Who even allowed Gilbert inside the grounds? "And why are you even here? I told you to go home; I don't have time to train you in Quidditch."

"You haven't come early any other day," said Gilbert in response, slowly rising.

"Have you...honestly been waiting here every morning?" Ludwig asked, more than slightly disturbed by this. Dear Lord, please do not let this kid be a stalker, he thought desperately. He already had that issue one with a certain Ebony or Enoby Darkness somethingorother, and it was not one he wished to repeat.

He shrugged. "I normally hang around here. I like to see the practices and the games."

Well, that was somewhat of a relief. Somewhat. It didn't change the fact that there was a kid here on his practice field when there was supposed to be nobody here but himself. "Well, I'm here early today because I have things to do before my team arrives."

"And what are those things?" Gilbert asked with a smile.

"Practicing."

"You know it's awfully hard to practice being a Beater when you're by yourself."

"Well I make do," he replied grumpily.

"Why don't you practice with your team?"

"I do. I just sometimes like being alone." Ludwig was hoping, praying, he would get the hint.

"Can I practice with you?"

God damn it. A fleeting thought of letting this kid be his target flashed through his mind. "No. No you can't." He had already begun to crouch down and opened up the chest. The wiggling balls threatened to break free and Ludwig casually wondered if one might actually go flying and strike Gilbert between the eyes.

"So, why are you so set on that Dynamo?" he asked, trying to get Gilbert's mind off of his practicing. Maybe if he could chit-chat for a little bit, he could satisfy Gilbert enough to chase him off.

"It, uh, it was my dad's."

So, a hand-me-down. Just like roughly everything else on this kid's possession, it seemed. "Did he play?"

"No."

Huge shocker. He didn't know much about the Dynamo model, but from what he did know, even if you did know how to play, the broom still couldn't fly worth a damn. But yet, he thought back to the week before, watching Gilbert take command of that broomstick and, despite its drawbacks, use it not unlike a professional.

Okay, sort of like a professional, not quite entirely. He still didn't sit on it correctly, had a weak grasp and was still prone to falling. That day, when he blocked Ludwig's passes he would use his entire body, and not his broom, and he didn't seem to know how far his broom was in back or in front of him.

So, in short, he didn't know how to use it at all.

"Well, that's a pity. Now, I'm going to need you to get off of the field so I can practice. You've already cut into my time."

"Work on your left swing," said Gilbert. "You were a little bit weak last time against the Dukes."

Ludwig stared at Gilbert.

Gilbert decided to keep going. "You know, the home match about three weeks ago? You swept down a bit too low and it didn't allow you to get enough momentum to really give them your all."

Ludwig still stared at Gilbert.

"Perhaps if you-"

"Perhaps if you stopped talking right now, actually," Ludwig interrupted dryly. Nobody - especially not any amateur kid - critiqued Ludwig's form or technique unless it was specifically asked for. And even then, it was taken with a grain of salt.

"...Maybe you can help me with that 'left swing.'" he offered, "Go stand against that far goal post."

Gilbert's eyes brightened. "Really? I can help you?"

"Sure. We'll start on the ground. Just, uh, just go over there, or something. By the goal post. I'll practice my swing with you." Ludwig released the binding on one of the Bludgers. He secured it with one hand before it could go too far, and grabbed his bat in the other hand.

The boy followed obediently, jogging over to the goal post before turning and shouting, "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Ludwig said in return. "That's perfect." He released the Bludger and swung his club as hard as he could, sending it flying right toward Gilbert.

It took Gilbert a moment or two before he realized that there was a flying bludger coming right at him. Once he did, his red eyes grew wide and he darted off, holding his Dynamo broomstick tightly to him. "W-what are you doing?"

"Practicing my swing. I enjoy a moving target," Ludwig replied almost casually as he dashed after Gilbert, beaming the bludger at him with every opportune moment.

This continued for a while longer. Ludwig found that he was quite enjoying Gilbert run around the Quidditch field to avoid the bludgers whizzing about. There was almost a close call, when a bludger came roughly a centimeter or so away from Gilbert's skull. It came back at Ludwig, who beat it right back at him.

Finally the chase was interrupted with Ludwig's teammates shouting in the distance. It took a few shouts until finally Ludwig was able to register that someone else was on the field and he immediately stopped, turning around to look at them.

"What is going on?" his second Beater shouted.

Ludwig looked over at Gilbert, who had already fallen to his knees, panting heavily from running for so long. "I was just practicing," he explained simply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gilbert was helping me."

They all gave him flat looks.

"He was trying to kill me!" Gilbert shouted.

"Just...let's get started," the Seeker, Johann, said, shaking his head.

Ludwig turned to glance back at Gilbert and saw him already walk away, ducking to avoid a bludger as he went. His shoulders were stooped slightly and he still clung to his broomstick. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him. He didn't exactly know what Gilbert's intentions were, showing up every morning on the training field. Did he live nearby? Was he there out of convenience, or comfort, or or did he indeed wait for Ludwig every day, to learn how to play Quidditch?

"Hey," he called at Gilbert, who stopped and looked at him. Ludwig was about to say something else when suddenly a bludger that he hadn't seen came out of nowhere and collided right into his stomach. With a grunt he went down, trying to get his breath back while his team huddled around him. Gilbert pushed through them, so when Ludwig was able to focus again, all he could see was Gilbert's wide-eyed and worried stare.

"Are you okay?" Gilbert asked quickly.

"Yeah," Ludwig muttered. "Not the first time I've been...hit with a bludger. Someone grab it before it goes off again."

Two sets of arms hooked around Ludwig's and hefted the blonde to his feet, while the rest of the team flounced about in a disorganized flurry, trying to secure the wayward bludgers. It wasn't until the captain had regained his footing, and ensured the bludgers were put way that Ludwig addressed Gilbert once more. "Hey, kid. Listen up."

"Yeah?" Gilbert's eyes brightened when Ludwig looked directly at him.

Ludwig slowly turned with his team to head back to the locker room. "Just... Stay off the training fields." He tried to ignore the look of disappointment and loss on Gilbert's face. "...They're dangerous."

"Right, of course..." Gilbert mumbled, and it took him a few minutes to finally move his feet and walk away.

* * *

_AN: We're still trying to get Ludwig from seeing Gilbert as some creepy kid to maybe someone he will want to spend time with. That doesn't involve bludgers, of course. It'll happen in the next chapter. Drama is coming soon too! Just wait for it!_


	3. Chapter 3

Ludwig did not forget Gilbert so easily this time. The unusual adolescent weighed on Ludwig's mind throughout practice - of course, not enough to distract him from the task at hand. That was first and foremost, always.

Afterwards, however, as Ludwig put up his training robes, he realized something.

He was hungry.

"Hey," he said to his teammates. All six of them stopped and looked over at Ludwig, who was standing perfectly still against his locker, his head turned slightly.

"Let's get food."

Six sighs of relief. Whenever Ludwig was in a mood, sometimes he would stop and say something that nobody liked. Usually that was along the lines of 'Those passes were weak today; we need to go back and practice at least until sundown' or 'Next practice will begin at 4:30 in the morning. Be there five minutes early and get ready to run a few kilometers.' Ludwig called them 'surprises.' The rest of the team called it 'hell.'

Seven figures strode towards their favorite pub. They talked and chatted with civilians on the way, shaking a few hands and even signing an autograph or two. It was a bit of a walk, as one couldn't exactly put a Quidditch field in the middle of the city, but Ludwig enjoyed it. Sometimes they used floo powder, of course. And sometimes he made his team jog to the pub, just for a bit of extra training. It was another one of his 'surprises.'

When they were a block away, Ludwig saw a disturbance in the street up ahead of them. A crowd had gathered between the Big Bear Pub and the National Wizarding Bank. Probably some street scuffle, Ludwig thought dully, and was about to ignore it. However, his team wasn't quite above watching a good street fight and hurried past him to join the crowd. Feeling like a chaperone with a group of school children at the zoo, Ludwig grudgingly followed along.

Three adolescents towered above a white-haired boy clutching a busted-up broomstick-

Gilbert.

God damn it.

"What are you going to do, huh? Wave that useless broom at us? Sweep us to death?" The boys were taunting Gilbert. They had their wands out, but Gilbert did not.

"You want to see how fucking useless my broom is?" Gilbert spat. He flipped the broom so he held the base just above the fibers and the end pointed outward. In a second he took off, charging at them and brandishing his broom like it was a bat. The boys realized perhaps a second too late that Gilbert was choosing to battle without magic and preferred a more physical duel. One of them, the tallest, tried to move out of the way but too late; the end of Gilbert's broom collided with a sickening crack against his jaw. The boy stumbled off to the side into the crowd, who pushed him back in.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Another boy shouted and a bolt of red fired from his wand. Gilbert dove out of the way, protecting his broom close to his body as he went down. The crowd on the other end ducked out of the way to avoid getting hit by the blast, and fortunately the only thing disarmed was a hanging plant, which fell from its holder.

Ludwig knew that this had to end. Already a few people had come forward to attempt to put a stop to the battle, but with Ludwig's size and stature he easily strode through the crowd into the middle of the fray. The boys immediately backed off, knowing exactly who Ludwig was and that he was known for making a good career out of beating things with bats.

"We're done here. Get out," said Ludwig sharply.

The boys glanced at each other, hesitating, and it just took one more death glare from Ludwig before they scampered off.

Already the crowd was dispersing, content by the small show on the street, and Ludwig turned to look at Gilbert, who was slowly rising from the ground.

"I could have gotten them," the teen mumbled as he brushed himself off.

"I didn't do it to save your skin," Ludwig snapped. "What the hell are you doing, starting fights in the street?"

Gilbert shrugged. "They started it."

"You beat the kid in the jaw," Ludwig snapped. "You could have used your broom to get away. Use a disarming spell. You could have petrified him or something. You didn't have to beat him in the face." He sighed heavily and looked at his team. "I'll meet with you later."

Why oh why was he wasting his time with this kid? He had only spent a few hours with him, tops. And yet suddenly he was making himself a part of his life and Ludwig felt invested in his well being. For some reason. He was like a stray cat, or something, and unfortunately for him Ludwig had a soft spot for cats.

The team headed off and Ludwig and Gilbert were left staring at each other.

"Where were you going?" Ludwig asked, sighing.

"Home. Back to Berlin."

"I'll escort you there."

"You don't have to."

"That wasn't an invitation." Ludwig had to make sure that he didn't get into anymore trouble. And perhaps talk to his parents while he was at it; tell them to keep their son in check.

Slowly, Gilbert shuffled off and Ludwig followed. Together they went back to the Muggle world in perhaps the most awkward trip he could remember. Gilbert was avoiding eye contact, suddenly defensive and shut away - very different from the boy who demanded he teach him Quidditch just the week before. Ludwig wanted to say something but decided against it. He didn't mind the silence.

They had to walk through the city because Ludwig didn't have any Muggle money to buy a ticket for public transportation. It wasn't so bad, though. It was a nice day and he got to see some of the city. He hadn't really ventured into the Muggle world in a while, as his Captain duties had eaten up much of his time. But Gilbert seemed to know the city much better than he did.

They travelled to the East side of the city, a side that Ludwig hadn't explored too well, since for most of his life it had been a part of another country. It had only been about three or four years since East and West had become one city, and the stark differences between the two were easily noticeable to any pedestrian. It didn't help that the area that Gilbert was taking him to wasn't exactly the best on either side.

"Um, Gilbert..."

"We're almost there," the teen said.

At last, they arrived at Gilbert's home. Well. Sort of. They actually arrived at some kind of abandoned building, and Ludwig's first thought was how many fire hazards this building was breaking every single minute of the day.

They headed into the building, up some rickety stairs, and into a large back room. The room was generally empty except for one corner, which looked very well-lived in. A well-worn sofa faced a small television. Ludwig noticed an old game system and a VHS player next to the television. Along the wall were various VHS tapes just below a variety of posters. The television, he could see, was connected to a variety of extension wires that led out of the nearby window.

There were a number of posters and pictures on the walls. Some of them were familiar to him - posters from the wizarding world of various Quidditch teams and tournaments. Others were obviously from the Muggle world. Still images from classic films that Ludwig had only heard of - _Star Wars, Casablanca, Aladdin, Reservoir Dogs_, and _E.T._

Stuffed in a corner were a few boxes of what looked like clothing and shoes, and a beat-up bookshelf served as a pantry for cheap food and several rows of books.

_Please don't tell me he lives here_, Ludwig thought. He opened his mouth and finally choked out, "I thought you were taking me to your home."

Gilbert just gave him a look before he rested his broomstick against the wall and flopped down on the couch. He then grabbed a book from under the cushion. "You've successfully escorted me home so you don't have to stay," he said blankly.

Ludwig sighed. He couldn't just leave this kid to live squatting in this abandoned place. He was afraid the floor might give in at any moment. "Where are your parents?" he finally asked.

The teen said nothing, simply turned the page of his book.

Ludwig went over and sat down on the couch next to him, taking a deep breath at how deep the seat sank and how little life was in the cushions. "Gilbert."

Red eyes flickered up to look at him. "I live here alone," he said.

"Why?"

"Why do you live in your home? Because I do," he said defensively with a scowl.

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't have to tell you."

Ludwig snatched the book from Gilbert's hands and grabbed his arm roughly. "You approached me in a bar and demanded I teach you Quidditch. You wait every morning for me to show up at the training field. You get offended and depressed when I don't have time for you. And suddenly, now that I give a damn about your life, you shut me out? Don't insult me by wasting my time, Gilbert. Now talk."

Gilbert was quiet for a moment before he sighed and closed his eyes. Then, he started to talk.

* * *

"...So, his dad got shot trying to go over the Berlin Wall with the broomstick." Ludwig relayed Gilbert's life over dinner that night to his teammates.

"Wait he tried to like, fly? Over the Wall?"

"Yeah. And he got shot, or something. Gilbert witnessed it, apparently. He said he was only eight or nine, I suppose? It happened in 1986. He said he had just enough time to grab the broom and run off before they got him, too. But after that his mother disappeared. Not surprising, of course, considering the times."

"Wait." Christian was their Keeper, a drafted player from Northern Ireland. "You mentioned earlier that Gilbert's father had no idea he was a wizard? But yet he flew a broomstick over the wall. Well, almost. How is that even possible?"

"All his father knew was that he had a weird flying broomstick. Gilbert said that his father told him that he found it in a dumpster."

Christian still looked confused. "But how can he...not know?"

Ludwig took a long drink of his beer before replying. "I guess it would make sense that you wouldn't know," he muttered. "After the Soviet Union overtook the East, they were afraid of the wizards and witches who could rise against them. Of course they wanted their own Soviet wizards, however that kind of power needed to be suppressed in the satellite nations. So it was outlawed. Wizarding schools and businesses were shut down and nearly the entire population either went into hiding or was bullied into assimilating into Muggle culture. You could be arrested for having your wand out."

"Imagine it." The Chaser, Frederick, grinned. "An entire army of angry East Germans, storming the government! '_Avada Kedavra_' at everyone who crossed them. It would have been the stuff of legends. They would have never had to-"

"Thank you, Frederick," said Ludwig, giving him a pointed look. He then turned back to Christian. "Some parents raised their children, never teaching them about magic. Others did it in private, and some that did rebel...well, they were silenced. Of course, Muggle-born wizards never even knew that they were different, beyond the occasional magic manipulation they do unconsciously. They never got their letter and never learned magic. Gilbert said that his father was one of those. He never knew if his mother was a witch - either she was a Muggle, or she never talked about it, or she had no idea either."

"That's ridiculously depressing," Johann said with a sigh.

"Sadly, his is only one of far too many. I didn't ask enough about him, though. I don't know if he goes to school, or even has a wand. He clearly wanted me to leave, but I don't necessarily blame him. I wouldn't want people to know I'm some orphan squatter either."

"Wait." Christian took a drink as well. "You mentioned that his broom was an East German model. So they were obviously making brooms..."

"Of course," Johann spoke before Ludwig could. "The government would never turn down any opportunity to bring honor and glory to East Germany. Quidditch athletes were given a kind of pardon, so long as Quidditch was their only connection to magic. They made special brooms, too, but with the limited funds and magic available, they were terrible. It brought more shame to the country than anything."

Christian nodded slowly and leaned back, looking at Ludwig. "I see. So what are you going to do about him?"

Ludwig sighed. "I want to just forget about him. But he's squatting in a dangerous building in perhaps the worst part of town. I can't just... leave him."

Frederick patted his back. "Don't worry about him for right now. We need to focus on Quidditch. Next weekend is the National Finals, and we have a shot. If we win this, we could make it to the World Cup next year."

Ludwig nodded slowly. "Right. Of course." He had a feeling, however, that it wouldn't be that easy.

* * *

_A/N: Gilbert's backstory revealed, woohoo! So, developing how the Soviet Union would have reacted to the Wizarding World within its nations has been perhaps one of the most fun things to do. I hope things make sense - and of course, more will be explored and explained as we go along._

_By the way, this is right now set in 1993, just for reference._


	4. Chapter 4

The Berlin Badgers lost their next match against the Münster Monsters. This wouldn't be too much of a blow for Ludwig, except for the fact that it was in the quarterfinals and if they had won, perhaps they could have made it to represent Germany in the World Cup that year, held in London.

"Don't be upset," Johann said to Ludwig afterwards with a sigh. They were in the locker room, his team decompressing after an 8-hour long battle in the sky. Well, at least it seemed like a battle. Ludwig couldn't feel his arms. He sat heavily on the bench, fully dressed in civilian clothes but only with one shoe on. He didn't want to fully hang up his robes for several months. "Last season, we didn't even get close. Berlin was a laughing stock...honestly. Good players in Berlin left to live elsewhere so they could play for an actually decent team." He put his hand on his captain's shoulder. "Next year we'll be even better."

"I suppose you are right," Ludwig said with a heavy sigh, slowly reaching to take another drink.

"Of course I'm right," Johann said with a grin. "And think of this way - now you are free to worry about that homeless kid to your heart's content."

"W-what?" Ludwig looked up sharply, staring at his Seeker in alarm.

The man snorted and stood up, going to his locker and grabbing his bag of floo powder. "Oh come on. I'm not saying we lost because of that - you were the sharpest you've ever been out there today - but we've noticed you've become a lot more thoughtful ever since you went to that kid's home two weeks ago. Staring off into space and looking concerned all the time."

"I'd hardly call it a 'home'..." Ludwig muttered flatly, but didn't comment further. Maybe it was true, and maybe it wasn't true, and it wasn't anybody's business but his own.

"Whatever. We can talk about it later. Now come on, I need some good beer in me. I have been on a broomstick for eight hours and I still can't feel my balls."  
Ludwig was always appreciative of his Seeker's optimism. So with an enthusiastic nod, he finally finished tying his last shoe and stood up. The team gathered around the chimney that was in the facility solely for the purpose of floo powder-ing and set off to their favorite bar.

Once he had settled in his favorite corner with a pint, he watched thoughtfully as his team interacted. Christian was in the middle of sharing how he deftly blocked a pass made by the other team, which may or may not have been exaggerated slightly. Frederick, his Chaser, was surrounded by at least three women already and Johann was engaged in an awkward exchanged with someone who may or may not have been of the opposite sex - nobody was quite sure.

Max was Ludwig's second Beater and sat down with him. His older brother was Frederick, and Ludwig knew that the two were close (sometimes, with the way they acted, he wondered how close). Usually when they went out the two stuck together and Ludwig ignored them, but he supposed that with Frederick being held up by the six breasts surrounding him, his brother didn't have much choice.

"You performed well out there," Max said calmly.

"Thank you, as did you. You have improved greatly this season," Ludwig returned the compliment. After a small pause, Max spoke again: "Have you been thinking of that homeless boy who follows you?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. It seemed to be what everybody was talking about on the team. "It has been two weeks since I saw him last. Why must everyone continue to bring it up?"

"Now that the quarter finals are over, we can get back to our personal lives," Max smirked slowly. "As well as the lives of each other, I suppose."

Ludwig grunted unhappily. "I suppose," he echoed, then sighed. "I do not like the idea of some boy squatting alone in the worst end of town eating nothing but instant noodles and using an old broom to defend himself with," he said.

"Lots of boys have worse. Even in this city. You said he was using an entire room to squat...he is lucky he has a roof over his head."

Ludwig took a long drink. "Perhaps. I can't...I can't picture why he's different." He thought long and hard and then, all at once, it clicked. "I am the only connection he has with the magical world," he said quietly. "Well, not me, but...the team. Quidditch. His entire life is exactly like that of a muggle's except...the only time I have ever seen him in the magical world is at the training field. He doesn't go to school, that I know of, and he has no magical items in his...living area...except for a few Quidditch team posters - half of them are of our team - and that damn broomstick."

"And of course, he's chosen to take out his desire to get into the magical world on you, by inserting himself in your life," Max mused.

"Astute observation," Ludwig said dryly, closing his eyes. "He has a lot of potential - I saw it that day on the training field. And yet, it's being wasted by...picking fights on the street and trying to survive the roughest part of town."

Max cleared his throat. "You know that he can still go to school."

"How? He said he was seventeen. That's the age you finish school, not start it."

"Not for East Germans," Max smiled. "You don't know about the adult programs they have set up? If you are...or, were...an East German wizard who wasn't the one percent who got their invitation to go study in Moscow, the wizarding government has started sort of...adult evening classes."

Ludwig stared. "They have adult wizarding school?"

"It's after the same model of adult universities that muggles have. Classes at night so you can work in the morning...there are no dormitories since many of them still have to keep their muggle jobs and families. But you learn magic. One of our fans wrote me an owl explaining about how she was in the program." He shrugged. "Something to think about."

Something to think about, indeed. The rest of the night went by in relative silence with Ludwig mostly supervising his team, and Max going off to make sure his brother didn't catch anything he'd regret from one of the ladies. Eventually the pub closed and they left, going back to the inn where they had been staying for the match to sleep.

The next day were interviews and conferences, and Ludwig somehow got through them with the much-appreciated help of his teammates who were much more adept at answering unplanned questions than he was. Quidditch season, at least for them, was over for a time. In the fall they would have a chance again at the finals; at least after the World Cup was finished.

Ludwig suddenly had lots of free time. Of course he had to keep up his training regimen, keep up to date with the world of Quidditch and keep at the public relations of his team, but there were no longer days and days of training and a Quidditch match that could go on all weekend.

Ludwig hated free time. He usually tried to keep his days busy with cleaning or reorganizing his house, but there would always come a time when any lone germ would have a hard time surviving in the sterile environment. Of course he could always work out, however he had already balanced his caloric intake/outake for that day and to exert his body needlessly... Reading, magic, training, communicating with family and his teammates...he had done all of that.

Perhaps, he realized after several days of trying to keep busy, he was just trying to find an excuse not to see the kid. He wondered how he was - homeless, vulnerable, in a bad part of town, ignorant to his potential both athletically and magically.

'You can't just leave him like that,' his conscious finally reasoned with him. He had been sitting on the couch, finishing up reading the daily news when it reached him and he realized that no, he could not just leave him - and also how he could help him.

So after a bit of researching and 'asking around', Ludwig wound up at the Consulate for Magical Education, located in the "business district" of the wizarding population in Berlin. Christian was with him that day, probably because he had about as much to do as Ludwig did.

They entered the building. It was as drab and sterile as any other office building, and Christian seemed to not like it. "You know, in Ireland, all the offices are manned by elves," he commented.

Ludwig just gave him a look. "But they're filthy," he commented just before approaching the secretary, who was reading some gossip magazine whilst a quill wrote a report next to her. "Excuse me."

She slowly lowered the magazine and looked at him. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, ah, I am interested in...adult wizarding education. For someone else. Not me."

Another piece of parchment floated in front of her and she snatched up the quill from the middle of a word. "The student's name?"

"Gilbert."

She continued to look at him. "...Surname?"

Oh. Oh crap. Ludwig didn't know his last name. "Um. Beilschmidt."

"Isn't that your last name?" Christian muttered. Ludwig shoved his face away for it.

"Is he a former East German?"

"Yes."

"Address?"

Ludwig was certain that "second floor back corner of an abandoned warehouse in the bad part of Berlin" wasn't a valid address. So he was stuck again. When the woman cleared her throat impatiently he quickly said his own address, just so they could move on.

"His age?" she asked."

"Seventeen."

"And his relationship to you?"

Crap. Stalker? Former stalker? 'Might one day be a good quidditch player and rival on the field?' "He's my brother," he replied quickly. Well, he already had his last name and address, why not go all the way?

She stopped writing at that and looked up at Ludwig. "So...he needs adult education, and you do not?"

"Um. He was...taken from us at birth."

A raised eyebrow from both the secretary and Christian.

"I was sent to the West...he was sent to the East...we, uh, only just knew about each other, after reunification, and, um..."

"Test tube babies," Christian said. "But with magic."

"Yes! Magic...test tubes." Ludwig was floundering.

She still stared at him.

"Soviet experiments. You know how it is. Very cruel. Anyways, is that all you need?"

She finished writing down the necessary information and nodded. "A letter will be sent to the address in three to four business days with the necessary information, if he is accepted into the institution."

"You know," Christian said with a smirk. "In Ireland and Great Britain, they send an owl to wherever you are. I got my owl while I was sitting on the toilet, inviting me to school."

Now both Ludwig and the secretary were staring at Christian. "Well, sweetheart," she said as the quill went back to writing its report. "In case you haven't picked up a newspaper in the past while, we suddenly have to take care of several thousand people our government didn't know existed only a few years ago. So if it bothers you that we can't get our shit together overnight, you can go right back to Ireland."

"Um, thank you ma'am, I appreciate it. We'll look forward to the letter. Let's go now Christian." Ludwig grabbed his teammate's shoulder and steered him out of the building before things got even more tense.

"I was just saying that-"

Ludwig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's fine, Christian. I would just like to go home."

* * *

The next few days went by terrifying slow. Ludwig found ways to keep himself busy by adopting a dog and re-reading a few Quidditch training manuals, trying to refine his strategy. He kept an eye out for any letter from the Consulate of Magical Education, but after a few days he reasoned that it would come when it did, and if he got rejected, oh well. At least he tried.

Four days after the afternoon at the Consulate, Ludwig received a knock on his front door. Strange, since he either never got visitors, or they were his teammates and they simply no longer knocked.

He opened the door, half expecting some kind of person from the media or even a fan, and he was greeted with a fan.

A very familiar fan.

Gilbert stood on his doorstep, with a large, stuffed trash bag tied to the end of his Dynamo broomstick in one hand and a folded up piece of paper in the other. "Hi, Ludwig!" he said happily.

Ludwig blinked slowly. "Gilbert," he muttered. "What are you-"

"Thank you so much for letting me live with you!" He bounded forward, past Ludwig, into the house, looking around enthusiastically. "This is the best day of my life!"

Ludwig suddenly felt his home grow a lot smaller, almost to suffocation levels. "Wait, wait, 'move in with you'? No, I never allowed that! How did you get my address?"

"The letter." Gilbert handed Ludwig the piece of parchment in his hand. The taller blonde took it quickly and opened it up, eyes widening at just the opening lines.

_ATTENTION: Gilbert "BEILSCHMIDT" Former Surname "OSTKAISER"_  
_FORMER ADDRESS: Second Floor Back Corner of Abandoned Warehouse, Weserstrausse, Berlin, Germany_  
_NEW ADDRESS: Home of Ludwig BEILSCHMIDT, 831 Hetastrausse, M. Berlin, Germany_

Son of a bitch. They were good.

It was a letter of acceptance into the adult magical program. With it was a map of where the classes were being held, a list of supplies, and beginning classes. Schooling would start on the fifth of September.

He lowered the letter when he finished, taking a deep breath and looking over at the young man, who had dropped the trash bag and was now exploring the ground floor of the house. "Um, you are not staying here, despite what this letter implies!" No. No, he could not house some random kid. He had only put his address down for legal matters, because he didn't think that they would ever find said random kid in the middle of a giant city.

Gilbert slowly made his way back to Ludwig, eyes wide. "But, wasn't it you who...you know, put me on the record?"

"Yes, but that was just a little nudge to get you going. You need to be in school during the day and using your magical abilities. I'm sure that there are places that offer public assistance where you can stay and keep out of trouble. Not squatting and collecting film posters and hanging out in training fields."

Gilbert did not even try to hide the crushed look on his face. He gulped slowly and looked around, then looked back at him. "Oh. Um. Alright. Yeah. That's fine..." he looked down at the letter in his hand. "Yeah, the warehouse is still...home for me, so it's okay..."

That word 'home' stung Ludwig deeply. It would be a long road before Gilbert finished his education. He could of course stay in the warehouse...which was dangerous, especially if he would need to practice magic for homework, and of course travelling back and forth between the magical and muggle worlds every day would be exhausting...

He looked around his own home. It was fairly large - not too extravagant, but his salary as a professional Quidditch captain was generous - and also fairly empty. He had a dog now, of course, but he had at least two other guest rooms...

A rustling of plastic made Ludwig look over. Gilbert was readjusting things in the garbage bag. He saw a hint of a rolled up poster and realized that in that bag were all of his belongings.

Goddamn it. He was so damn pitiful without even meaning to. Annoying and kind of obnoxious and very, very brave and also tragic and pitiful.

"You can stay," he found himself resolving out loud. It would be for the best. He could keep an eye on Gilbert, he himself would have company, and he also reasoned he could help him refine his Quidditch skills.

Gilbert looked up, still holding the handle of the broomstick. He seemed, for a moment, unsure of whether or not to believe Ludwig's words. "You...can let me live here?"

"Yes," Ludwig said, taking a deep breath. "Yes, you can stay. I'm going to make sure that you are...excelling in your studies-"

"And you can teach me Quidditch! Get me on a team!"

"Only if your grades are up to par," Ludwig warned. God, he was like some kind of parent.

Gilbert dropped his bag and ran over to the Captain, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he said happily.

Ludwig awkwardly hugged him back, but when he looked down and saw the unbridled joy on Gilbert's face, his heart melted just a little bit.

Perhaps, he reasoned, this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in this one! Otakon...it was a thing that happened. Anyways things are starting to move along for our two. I'm really enjoying fleshing out the Quidditch team; they're fun to develop._


	5. Chapter 5

The first order of business was to get Gilbert settled in and on a schedule. Ludwig was determined to fix the young man right up. He would eat three proper meals per day. Go to bed at a decent hour. Wake up at a decent hour. Make sure the clothes he wore were clean and pressed, and his room was neat and orderly.

The first hour of Gilbert's unexpected arrival, Ludwig showed Gilbert to his room, left, and returned to find that Gilbert had haphazardly stacked about three boxes on top of one another so he could hang his film posters in the right spot - and of course was dangerously close to tipping over. Ludwig fortunately was able to put them up correctly and at a perfect parallel to the floor and ceiling with his wand, and that was when he finally realized what he was dealing with.

"Gilbert, do you even have a wand?" he asked when all of his things were put away in a _neat_ and _orderly_ manner that was acceptable to Ludwig. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the now-decorated room, and Gilbert sat next to him.

"Um, no," said the teenager with a pause. "I once lit something on fire with chopsticks, though. I still don't know how I did that."

Right. So they would have to of course get him set up with all of that. Buy him books, get him a wand, some robes - then he realized that Gilbert might not even have currency.

"Do you have money?"

Gilbert reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins. "I have three Marks," he said, grinning at him. "One of the coins is from 1923! So I hold on to it for good luck. Also I have some East German Marks - I found them in someone's jeans at a coin laundry, but I can't use those anymore."

Ludwig was sure that's the most money the boy had ever had in his life. "Right. Well, the wizard world does not use Deutsche Marks. We have our own currency," he said. He pulled out of his pocket four bronze coins and forwarded it on to the boy. "This is twenty Müller. It will get you started. For now, use it to pay for your books. I'll cover your wand and uniform."

Gilbert looked at one of the coins carefully. "Why is it called Müller? Isn't that like...the most common German surname?"

"We aren't very creative," replied Ludwig dully.

"What are the other names of the coins?" he asked. "Is one a 'Hans' and the other a 'Kemper'?" Gilbert was snickering, and Ludwig gave him a long look.

"One is called 'You're being annoying' and I believe the other is 'I'll take my money back if you keep talking'."

Gilbert huffed a bit, puffing one cheek out before looking down and running his thumb over the coins and smiling. Ludwig caught this and patted Gilbert's back. "Come on. Let's get you...acquainted with the magical world."

Ludwig stood up and watched Gilbert put his shoes on. He watched as Gilbert reached for his Dynamo broomstick, but stopped.

"Would you take that everywhere you went?" Ludwig asked. Now that he thought about it, he didn't recall seeing a time when Gilbert didn't have it. Not that he could claim to have seen Gilbert all that often, of course.

"I felt safe with it."

Probably because he knew how to beat the shit out of people with it, Ludwig reasoned. However, he did not voice this aloud and instead led them both to his fireplace and prepared the floo powder. "Do you know how to use Floo Powder?" he asked, sprinkling a palmful out of its bag and holding it out to Gilbert to show.

"Are we going to get high?" Gilbert eyed it carefully. "I didn't know drugs were legal here."

For that, Gilbert almost got a faceful of Floo Powder. However Ludwig refrained from such an act and instead grabbed Gilbert's hand, gently putting some of the silvery powder in his palm. "Go into the fire place-"

"You're fucking with me."

"Go into the fireplace and picture very clearly in your mind the pub where you first talked to me. Okay? That pub, very clearly, and say 'The Dragon's Hoard'. Then throw the powder into the fire. Okay?"

"We /are/ getting high," Gilbert said, running his thumb over the powder.

However he followed the instructions, stepping into the fireplace and was soon sucked into the Floo Network. Ludwig could only pray that he wouldn't completely mess up and find himself in Sri Lanka (it had happened before).

He followed soon afterwards, finding himself in the familiar atmosphere of his favorite pub. It was early in the day so it wasn't too busy, but already people smiled to him when he entered. Gilbert was brushing himself off not far away so it relieved Ludwig that he had made it one piece.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asked as he brushed some Floo Powder off of Gilbert's hair.

"I prefer to walk, myself," Gilbert said with a small huff. He didn't seem too sad for very long, though; just the idea of being in the magical world was exciting to Gilbert. So he happily took Ludwig's arm and ran out of the pub onto the busy street, looking around with a grin. "Oh boy, this is going to be so much fun!" he said.

The first trip was to the bookstore. Typical spell books, potion making, history of magic - all the same books that even Ludwig had bought when he was going through school. And whilst it had been much of a chore back then, he found that every book, every title that Gilbert picked up was just as exciting as a child opening a Christmas present. Gilbert's sense of wonder and awe was endless, and Ludwig found it was putting a smile on even his face.

"Ludwig!" Gilbert emerged from behind a row and held in his hands a large, leatherbound book: 'Quidditch: The Essentials'. "Can I get it? It's not on my list but...I mean it has things like strategy and history and terminology and I can learn so much!"

Ludwig was about to point out that he himself could tell Gilbert all of what was in that book, but then he realized that if he bought it, then it wouldn't be Ludwig's responsibility to actually teach it to him. "Of course you can," he agreed.

Out of the bookstore after making their purchases, then on to the potion shop to buy supplies. Another shop to get things such as parchment, quills, and other supplies.

Gilbert seemed unimpressed by the stock of writing utensils. "Why can't I just use a pen?"

"Because muggles use those. We use quills."

"Why?"

"Because."

Gilbert continued to look through the quill selection, as if he was certain there was at least one ballpoint pen hidden in the back. "Because why? I thought magic was all about being innovative and-"

"Because Hitler," interrupted Ludwig flatly, staring at Gilbert.

The teen stopped and looked at the Quidditch Captain, a sudden inquisitive look on his face. "Hitler?"

"He was a wizard. Legend says his wand itself was a ballpoint pen. Caused unspeakable destruction with it. For that, it is outlawed," Ludwig whispered dramatically.

Gilbert gasped, eyes widening. "No way."

Ludwig gasped in return. "Way."

"Woah." He looked back to the quills in his hand and then slowly made his way to the counter to pay. "Then...I'm okay with a quill."

Of course it wasn't true. Not even close to being true. But Gilbert didn't have to know that.

Last order of business was, of course, the wand. Ludwig had purposefully saved that trip for last, mostly because he was terrified that Gilbert might try to use it at some point and end up lighting something on fire. He'd have to monitor him very carefully.

Out in the streets, they ran into a familiar sight - the brothers Max and Frederick, Ludwig's second Beater and first Chaser, respectively. Frederick had just finished signing a young lady's autograph and blowing her a kiss (as was part of his charm), and Max off to the side, the large, brawny third wheel with a barely-suppressed jealous eye.

Max was thankfully spared when he caught sight of Ludwig approaching and pulled his brother away from his ten-second girlfriend to direct his attention to their captain and his companion. "Good afternoon, Captain," Max said when they got close enough.

"Ludwig! How have you been?" Frederick grinned, then saw Gilbert. "Hey! Isn't this the kid that-"

"It's a long story." Ludwig sighed heavily, but offered a small smile to his teammates. "I am out with Gilbert to get him started for school."

Max chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ah, so you discovered the adult schooling?"

"I got my letter this morning and Ludwig is letting me live with him!" Gilbert piped in cheerfully, his acceptance letter (already crinkled and ripped in some places) proudly in his hand and thrust forward for Frederick and Max to see.

"Well congratulations!" Frederick laughed. "Hey, let me take you over to the sweets shop and get you a chocolate bar." He glanced at Ludwig, who just shrugged in indifference.

The two went off, leaving Max and Ludwig alone in the street. "So, you're actually allowing him to live with you?" Max chuckled and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his handsome face.

"I didn't want it. I put my address down as his legal address because of the fact that, well, he didn't have an address. I thought...that you needed one. A proper one. But I suppose not, since they were able to find him in the muggle world and...well, he showed up at my doorstep with all his things. I just...I couldn't say no, and leave him out again."

Max patted Ludwig on the shoulder. "Smart move."

"I just don't...exactly know how to take care of a kid."

"There's your first mistake," Max said, his eyes drifting over to where his brother had taken Gilbert. "If he's been on his own for as long as you say he has - seven, eight years...I would be hard-pressed to call anyone who can survive on the streets that long a 'kid'. He might not seem it, but I have a feeling he is hiding a lot of maturity. Perhaps even wisdom."

Ludwig snorted. "I wouldn't go that far. He asked why wizards don't use pens and I told him the reason was Hitler was a wizard and that was his wand. He believed me."

Max laughed lightly. "Don't be too hard on him. It isn't his fault that this happened to him, and it isn't his fault that he's only just getting his chance now. Just figure out for yourself, what kind of person you want to be in his life. Parent, older brother, roommate."

"I could never even imagine parenting him," Ludwig balked. "But I will keep your words in mind."

Soon after, Frederick and Gilbert came back, both with an entire bagful of candy. "We got a little bit carried away," Frederick confessed, chewing on a taffy.

Not far off, two school-age girls caught sight of the small group and immediately flocked to Frederick."Oh my god, it's Frederick! I love you sooo much!" Frederick of course was handsome and arguably the most charismatic of the group, so it was no surprise that Quidditch-loving girls fawned over him more than the others.

Frederick grinned and was just about to reply with something no doubt smooth and potentially seductive when Max was suddenly at his side and yanked at Gilbert's arm. "Well we'll be seeing you, Ludwig. Good luck," Max said, dragging his brother away before the girls had a chance to confess their undying love.

"They are so cool," Gilbert whispered, chewing on a taffy himself. "Can we go get my wand now?"

Ludwig led him down the street to the wand shop - a small, cluttered place that Ludwig always hated venturing into, just because it seemed like nothing was organized, and it probably hadn't been renovated since it was built during the time of the Plague, and the dust mites in the shop alone could begin their own magical world if they ever became sentient.

The shopkeeper came out after a moment or two and greeted the pair. He was an older gentleman, but despite his appearance he seemed very friendly and energetic. "Can I help you?"

"I need a wand!" exclaimed Gilbert.

"Oh do you, now?" the man chuckled and offered his hand to shake. "I am Herr Vogel. I craft wands and I sell them here, I surely have one for you. I was taught by the great Gregorovitch, so my wants are of the highest quality." Gilbert shook his hand, and Mister Vogel held it for a moment, eyeing Gilbert seriously for a moment before he let go. "Let me find one for you…" He disappeared into the back and finally returned with a long, thin box. Opening it up, he pulled out a long, slightly bent, darkly-polished wand. "Try this one. Fine wood from the forests of Bavaria-"

"I don't want it," Gilbert interrupted flatly, not even touching the wand.

Ludwig eyed the wand curiously. It seemed like a standard wand. "Why not?" he asked.

"I don't want a Bavarian wand."

Herr Vogel was quiet for a moment before he slowly chuckled and put the offensive wand away, soon taking out another one. "Alright. No Bavarian wands. Let's start again."

Finding a wand took an hour. Ludwig ended up sitting on the step outside after giving Gilbert the flat fee for a wand. He, simply, just could not settle on a wand that he wanted. '_The wand will choose you_,' Herr Vogel had claimed, but Gilbert wouldn't settle on whatever wand 'would choose him'. _He_ wanted the perfect wand, whether the wand liked it or not.

Gilbert finally emerged, a boxed wand in his hand and a grin on his face. Ludwig stood and held his hand out to inspect the tool. "What did you settle on?"

"Eleven and a half inches," Gilbert recited as he passed his wand over to Ludwig to inspect. "White Pine from the Black Forest, and unicorn hair. That's so cool - I didn't even know unicorns existed."

Ludwig smiled. "That's good. That's a strong wand, indeed." He passed the wand back to Gilbert and they went off again. Gilbert the entire time inspected his wand with a broad grin on his face, running his fingers over the wood and swishing it lightly around. Ludwig had to take a hold of his wrist to prevent Gilbert from accidentally performing any kind of magic. "It is against wizarding law to perform magic outside of school until you have your degree," he explained.

With a pout, Gilbert slowly put his wand away and continued after Ludwig. There were a few more stops, robes and a trip to the bank to open up Gilbert his own bank account, and then back home.

* * *

The next several weeks comprised of Ludwig budgeting his funds and getting Gilbert settled in. The first few nights were difficult, with Gilbert choosing to sleep on the couch because a fresh mattress was not something his back was used to. Finally Ludwig had to just go and change the consistency of the mattress so it resembled less "plush premium mattress that magically conforms to the contours of the back and cushions target spots" and more "beat up couch cushions that contained more mite poop than actual filling" because, for some reason, it was the only thing that Gilbert could sleep to.

As time went on, however, Ludwig found that, well, having a slightly neurotic and messy roommate (if he could even call it that) was not so bad. Gilbert often disappeared for hours at a time during the day and return in the evening. At first, Ludwig did not much care what Gilbert did, as long as it was not illegal. He had Gilbert's wand boxed up and firmly put away with numerous spells on it, just because he had a sneaky feeling that Gilbert would try to do just about anything to have his wand. Ludwig, however, was not taking any chances.

When he was not fretting over Gilbert's wellbeing (which was quickly becoming a full-time job in itself) he was keeping close watch on the Quidditch regionals, then quarterfinals, then semifinals, and finally, on 22 August, just three weeks after Gilbert had come to move with him, Ludwig and his team found themselves huddled in his living room, the radio tuned to the live broadcast of the Quidditch World Cup. It was held in London, with Ireland playing Bulgaria.

"Take your bets, take your bets!" Frederick was recording the bets that night. Gilbert, Ludwig, and the rest of the team were gathered. Johann the Seeker, Ludwig and Max the Beaters, Frederick, Kurstin, and Wolfgang the Chasers - except there was no Keeper that night.

"Where is Christian?" Ludwig asked as he considered his own bet.

"He's in London right now," Johann explained. "You know how he is - Ireland is his home. He told me he wouldn't miss it for anything."

"I thought he was British?" Kurstin asked. "Northern Irish and all."

"Don't tell anyone from Northern Ireland that," Ludwig warned. "If you're not British then you're staunchly Irish and that's how it is. He's made it very clear how he feels about the Crown. Gilbert, do you want to participate?"

"Ireland wins," Gilbert said. "But I get the pot if Bulgaria catches the Snitch."

All turned their eyes to Gilbert, who sat on the ottoman, grinning.

"Well isn't someone precocious," Max said with a chuckle. "Alright, I'm in. Anyone else?"

Frederick, Kursten, and Johann offered their pots just in time for the match to begin.

The next several hours were spent around the radio, listening intently as the announcer retold every single play. Ludwig had placed his bet on Bulgaria, and frankly nobody knew who would win until the very last moment - when Viktor Krum caught the Snitch, but not in time for Ireland to take the lead. A mixture of cheers and boos erupted in the room, with Gilbert grinning from ear to ear. "I got it right! I knew I'd get it right!"

"How the hell did you know that?" Frederick asked with a scoff as he passed his pot over to the youngest of their company.

"I just had a hunch," Gilbert laughed.

The next hour was spent socializing and drinking. Most of the team was trying to get Ludwig to stop pouting over his loss - of which Ludwig had to make it abundantly clear that he was not pouting and he was most certainly not a sore loser.

All festivities were stopped at once, however, when the radio in the background halted its usual after-game review. "I interrupt," the announcer said. "Riots. Riots have been reported at the World Cup campsite. It seems Death Eaters are behind this and numerous tents and belongings are on fire. The area is being evacuated. We will bring you more updates as the scene develops."

The team stopped and stared at the radio as the chilling words penetrated the light-hearted atmosphere. "Riots?" Gilbert whispered.

"What the hell are Death Eaters?" Frederick asked urgently.

"Death Eaters are the followers of Voldemort," Johann said, as if the information just struck him. "He...he was a Dark Wizard in Britain. I had to write a report on him when I was in school. Covering dark wizards. He was interesting, I guess. But it's strange, if I recall he died...maybe ten years ago? Twelve? Something like that. No idea why his followers would be making trouble still."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "So it's some fringe extremist group holding onto the ideals of the past and using scare tactics to try and convince the masses that somehow they're still relevant. Somehow that sounds familiar."

Gilbert scooted a bit closer to Ludwig and clutched his arm. "I hope Christian will be okay."

"He'll be fine." Ludwig patted his back. "I'm sure he's dealt with this kind of thing before. He's good at keeping out of trouble. He'll be back in a few days." He rose at that, looking at his company. "I think, however, it's time we all sleep." The radio turned off.

Frederick was clutching the bicep of his brother. "Can we stay here, please?" he asked with a pleading look. "It's dark. I'm scared. What if Death Eaters come after me?"

"I'll protect you," Max said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Ludwig sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. You all can...stay here if you want. But I don't have another guest room."

For whatever reason that was lost to Ludwig, who preferred his alone time and his space, all agreed to stay and hunker down on the couch. Frederick thanked him by agreeing to make pancakes in the morning.

Early the next morning, Ludwig awoke to a tapping on his window. Opening his eyes blearily, he almost didn't recognize the owl at his windowsill, a letter in its beak, tapping furiously at the glass.

Slowly, Ludwig rolled out of bed and stood, opening the window and taking the letter. The bird then promptly flew off before Ludwig could do anything else.

The letter was sealed with unmarked wax, and on it, in familiar hand, were the words _"To the Berlin Badgers."_ Ludwig recognized that handwriting as Christian's, and ripped the letter open quickly to read it.

Moments later he ran down to the living room, where the remainder of his team lay sprawled out in various positions. Johann was sleeping on the couch, Frederick and Max were on the floor with Frederick's head resting on his brother's stomach, Kursten curled up on the armchair, and Wolfgang was sprawled under the coffee table. "Wake up," he said to them all. "Wake up, right now!"

Slowly, all came-to. "What's up, Lutz?" Frederick mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, yawning.

"I have a letter from Christian."

"Oh sweet...what's it say?" Frederick squinted at the clock. It was half six in the morning.

Ludwig cleared his throat and began to read:

_To my dearest Quidditch Team, the Berlin Badgers,_

_ You may have heard about the riots at the Quidditch World Cup last night. I would like to let you all know that I am safe and unharmed. This is because, mainly, I was involved in these riots._

_ In the seventies and early eighties I was a follow of Lord Voldemort as a Death Eater. After his fall in 1981, I left Great Britain to avoid capture and went to Germany. I learned to play Quidditch and such is how you have known me._

_ The Dark Lord has returned, and because of such a turn of events, I will not be returning to Berlin. I must complete my duties here in Great Britain._

_ I will return to Germany, but when I do, the power of the Dark Lord and his followers will come with me._

_ Johann and Ludwig, I understand that you are muggle-borns or partial muggle-borns. I may be able to convince the Dark Lord to spare you._

_ Look for the Dark Mark in the sky._

_Best Regards,_

_Christian_

Ludwig looked up after he finished reading and saw all eyes on him, very much awake and alert. "So. Christian will not be returning," he said stoically. "We now have an opening in our team for a new Keeper."

"Uh. Ludwig, with all due respect, aren't you a little bit concerned with the fact that our Keeper just confessed to being a terrorist and potentially put a hit out on you and Johann?" Frederick asked.

Ludwig's eye twitched and he folded up the letter. "I don't have time to worry about some wannabe-British Hitler and his group of Halloween skinheads," he snapped. "Terrorist or not, Christian was a damn good Keeper. Now I have to worry about the fact that, since the World Cup is over, Quidditch season begins again in two weeks and I don't have anyone to watch my goalposts. Do you understand?"

Everyone nodded grimly. Johann looked a bit more than uncomfortable still with being called out by name in Christian's letter, but said nothing.

"I can try, I can be the Keeper," came a voice from the living room door.

Ludwig turned and saw Gilbert, standing still in his pajamas. How long had he been standing there, listening? "No," Ludwig said at once. "Absolutely not."

"It could work," injected Max. "You said yourself that he blocked every single one of your passes when you two worked together that one time-"

"Nope. No way," Ludwig shook his head at once. "We will hold a tryout. I'll look through the records, find some notable players maybe about to graduate from school or some recent graduates-"

"Can I at least participate in tryouts?" Gilbert huffed, looking hurt. "I can try. I want to try."

"Let him try," Johann said.

Ludwig looked between the accusing eyes of his team and Gilbert's face - god damn it why did he have to look kind of adorable when he wanted to. "Fine," he sighed at last, closing his eyes. "You can try."

He looked back down at the letter, glaring at it as if it was the cause of all his troubles. "I'll put a word out and we'll see if we can get it this weekend. Even just a few quality players can make a difference."

"Or talented amateurs," Gilbert piped up, moving from behind him to stand in front of Ludwig with a determined look. "I'll be good," he said. "I'll show you that I'm good. I _am_ good. I will show you."

Ludwig looked down at him thoughtfully. He didn't say it out loud, but he knew that Gilbert's words were truth. After all, Gilbert already had shown him how good he actually was.

* * *

A/N: I wrote in chapter 3 that this takes place in 1993, but I meant to write 1994, which was when this World Cup takes place. Sorry about that.

My longest chapter yet! I'm sorry about that and about the delay. I had a good time with this chapter - can you tell I'm enjoying writing the Quidditch team as much as I am Ludwig & Gilbert? In the next few chapters you'll see them get a lot closer, don't worry.

Well I hope you enjoyed it! ^^ Critiques & comments are welcome; it keeps me motivated.

EDIT: Wow I completely forgot a Chaser. Meet Wolfgang, Chaser #3


End file.
